


Bad News Never Looked So Good

by JJK



Series: Life, Interrupted 'Deleted Scenes' [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Realised I never posted this on here! (Remember this is before Grantaire meets Enjorlas, so everything is relative).</p>
    </blockquote>





	Bad News Never Looked So Good

**Author's Note:**

> Realised I never posted this on here! (Remember this is before Grantaire meets Enjorlas, so everything is relative).

_November 1993 (Grantaire is 21)_

The first time he saw him, Grantaire fell into a daze. Enraptured, his eyes followed the ethereal figure stroll across the courtyard, shoulders thrown back, head held high; a haughty arrogant confidence seeping from each press of his unlaced combat boots into the tarmac. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, but he looked like he belonged in robes. His hair was slicked and coiffed, it was lacking a crown. 

Grantaire almost stumbled over his own feet, suddenly desperate to follow him. Itching to draw him, to freeze him in that instant of perfect confidence. But he disappeared, lost into the crowd or the shadows which clung to the walls of the buildings. Grantaire wandered desperately into a couple of side streets but he was well and truly gone. 

= 

The second time he did not see him. Not immediately. 

A voice thick with command, but slippery with something sinister called out of the darkness and told Grantaire to drop the cash and put his hands behind his head. 

Grantaire froze instantly, dropping the money back into the cash register and slowly bringing his hands up to lace his fingers behind his head. He knew breaking into this particular shop had been a bad idea, and that it would be pushing his luck not to leave as soon as he’d found clothes; but he was hungry and cold and couldn’t be bothered trying to steal a meal as well. As far as he could tell he’d hadn’t Travelled far from his present. He wanted to keep trouble making to a minimum. 

Footsteps pressed up on him but instead of feeling the cool metal of handcuffs locking onto his wrists, a hand slid round his waist, thumb brushing slightly against his hip. 

Gloved fingers dipped into the cash register and plucked the roll of notes Grantaire had been intended to steal. 

“Thanks for picking the lock for me,” the voice whispered into his ear. Hot breath prickled against his throat, lips poised over his pulse point. For once stalling moment Grantaire thought this stranger press kiss against his skin. 

Then he was gone. 

Grantaire wheeled in time to see figure fleeing in the shadows, he would recognise that gait anywhere. 

= 

The third time, Grantaire was drunk, and high, and fairly sure he was hallucinating. He was leaning against the bar in a club whose name he didn’t care to remember, drink in hand. The room was spinning, loud music pumping through the speakers reverberating through the floor and throbbing in his foggy mind. Every now and again an infuriating whistle wound shriek through the already overwhelming noise of the music. The dance floor seemed to sway slightly, his eyes tracked the motion. Were it not for the bar to support him he might have fallen over. 

Jehan was somewhere in that crowd, no doubt grinding against some scantily clad character. Who was it they were supposed to have been meeting here? A name tugged at the edges of his memory, someone Jehan had been seeing on and off for a few weeks. Angelo? Perhaps. Grantaire shrugged at no one and took a swig of his drink. 

Lights flashed, strobes, making everything seem choppy – like a badly cut old movie. That’s when he saw _him_. Prowling. There was no other word to describe his motion across the dance floor. 

The lights continued to flash, cutting out every other frame. The room seemed to pulse in time with Grantaire’s heartbeat. 

He never normally danced. That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t, but this wasn’t dancing. This was foreplay. And really, who the fuck would want to sleep with him? But tonight was not an ordinary night. He drained his drink and threw it on the bar, oblivious to the way it skidded across the slippery surface, toppling over and spilling the forgotten remnants onto an already pissed off bar tender. 

He waded through his intoxication, parting the crowd with rough shoves until he was face to face with the figure. For a moment he just stood, blinking slowly up at the pristine porcelain features which were so much more captivating than Grantaire could ever have imagined. Cherry lips, a strong nose – almost beaklike – chiselled cheek bones, arched eyebrows. 

Possessed by courage ordinarily unknown to him, Grantaire threaded a hand around the leather clad hips. He expected to be thrust away, to be punched. Instead a familiar hand ghosted across his hips with the same tantalizing not-quite touch, until it reached the small of his back and suddenly, without warning, pressed hard, pushing their bodies flush. 

And then they were kissing, or to be more accurate, the figure was kissing him. There was more possessiveness and biting that Grantaire was used to, but he didn’t deny that it was good. Oh so good. 

They left the club.(Jehan forgotten) Struggled into a taxi. Heavily tipped the driver for not commenting on the fact that the figure had spent the entire cab journey straddling Grantaire in the back seat. Navigated the stairs of Grantaire’s apartment. Fumbled with the twenty seven locks to his apartment and then fell into bed. 

They fucked. Gloriously hard and fast. And when Grantaire came, it was in a blinding white light of oblivion, so much better than any high. 

= 

In the morning the figure was gone. But the curve of his hips, the dimples in his spine, the elegance of his fingers and the twist of his smile were all engrained in Grantaire’s memory. Honestly, he would have been happy if he never saw him again. 

Honestly. He would have been much happier if he never saw him again. 

But then, when did Grantaire ever expect to be happy?


End file.
